


sundown

by armethaumaturgy



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Multi, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: Yashiro stands up, turning to head inside and get Shermie, tell her to pack her keys up, but Chris reaches out, grabbing onto his pant.He seems almost sheepish when Yashiro looks back at him. “Hey… I’m cold. Can you lend me your jacket?”





	sundown

The setting sun paints everything a soft shade of orange, shadows stretching across the pavement and lazily crawling their way over the weeds growing in the cracks. The air is heavy and the gentle breeze stirring with the treetops doesn’t help much.

Chris shifts, stretching the leg which had fallen asleep. His eyes rake over the street, old houses with paint chipping off and overgrown front lawns. He gets lost tracing the bricks forming the sidewalk until a shadow comes close, falling over his face.

He raises his head and grins lopsidedly as Yashiro holds out a canned drink for him. It’s still cold and moisture clings to the metal as he opens it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking a sip.

Yashiro plops himself down next to him, a big and strong presence, almost comforting. He opens a can himself, and they sit there, momentarily listening to the chirping of the birds in the distance.

“Why aren’t you inside?” Yashiro asks, shooting Chris a sideways look.

“Shermie didn’t wanna practice without you and it’s no fun by myself,” Chris replies simply. The cola is good, even as it burns his throat chugging it.

“Huh, Shermie isn’t one to pass up quality time with either one of us,” Yashiro laughs. Chris can’t help but join; Yashiro’s laughter is infectious.

“She’s tired, I suppose. Maybe we should pack it up for today. I can make some pancakes for dinner and we can… Yeah.”

“Breakfast for dinner? I like it.”

Yashiro stands up, turning to head inside and get Shermie, tell her to pack her keys up, but Chris reaches out, grabbing onto his pant.

He seems almost sheepish when Yashiro looks back at him. “Hey… I’m cold. Can you lend me your jacket?”

Yashiro’s brows furrow together, eyes flicking down to Chris’ hand, gripping onto the half-empty can. “You’re not cold,” he says, frowning now at the sun, still just as warm even halfway down the horizon.

Chris lets go of his pant and turns away again, taking a sip of the cola in silence. Yashiro snorts softly and shucks his jacket off, leaning down and draping it over Chris’ shoulders.

Chris jumps, turning to glance back in confusion, but Yashiro is already inside, calling out to Shermie, who is currently checking her social media on her phone.

Chris blinks, gulping down the rest of the cola and setting the empty can next to himself. His hands come up and hold onto the edges of the jacket, way too big for him. It’s so big he practically swims in it, in Yashiro’s warmth and scent and safety.

Suddenly everything feels a little easier, a little more manageable. His flames are gone and he has no idea what will happen in his life, everything is a mess,  _has_ been a mess for years, but the others always make it better.

“Hey, Shermie?” he pipes up when they both emerge, holding their instruments and leading the way to their shared car.

“Yeah?” Shermie hums back. Chris tells himself it’s fine,  _everything’s_ fine, and Yashiro isn’t even looking at him weird.

“Can I borrow your scarf?”

Shermie makes a questioning noise as she loads her keys into the trunk of the car, followed by Yashiro’s guitar. “Sure? This color doesn’t go with your top, though. Nor Yashiro’s jacket.”

Chris doesn’t care that the colors don’t match up, that he’s wearing a purple top with a red jacket and a green scarf, or that it’s hot and he can feel himself overheating in all the layers.

Everything feels right again.

“Oh yeah, we agreed on pancakes for dinner,” he says, “Any objections?”

Shermie laughs, loud and mirthful, “Have you ever seen me object to pancakes?”


End file.
